Florian barely had time to think—his body had already started to drop. Instinct overrode logic, legs bending, ready to beg, to plead, to get on his knees if he had to. His mind raced through possible excuses, desperate to explain himself, to say something that might keep whoever grabbed him from dragging him straight to whatever passed for a prison in this cursed village.
But then—
He turned.
And the words died in his throat.
A girl.
Younger than him. Sixteen, maybe seventeen, though something about her—her thin frame, the way she carried herself—made her seem smaller. Fragile.
Pale. Too pale.
Her skin looked almost translucent in the dim light, her face gaunt, sunken, like she hadn't eaten in days. Hollow, dark eyes met his—sharp despite their emptiness, framed by strands of limp black hair clinging to her face.
For a moment, Florian could only stare. His pulse, which had been hammering wildly with panic, stuttered.
'Who…?'
She didn't speak.
She didn't explain.
